


On a tempest tossed island

by kayejwrotes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Clan Chief Oikawa, Clan society, De-Aged Character(s), Established Relationship, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, I tried my best sorry, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm bad at summaries too, Implied Sexual Content, Liberally inspired by The Islander by Nightwish, M/M, Magic, Magic Is a Thing, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirate Iwaizumi, Rating May Change, all the usual suspects - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayejwrotes/pseuds/kayejwrotes
Summary: Oikawa gazes the horizon daily, searching for those flags, those striped sails, waiting for Iwaizumi's return. It's been two years now, but he keeps waiting, hopefully.That changes when an unfortunate encounter sheds new light on Seijoh's delayed return, setting in motion a series of unsettling revelations.Where's Iwaizumi? Where's Seijoh's ship with its crew? What's left of the truth?The intricated bundle of truth stands before Oikawa, waiting to be resolved.{This fanfiction is now a long-fic!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction in this fandom, so please go easy on me.  
> Also, I'm not an English mother tongue (like lots of people on Ao3) and that's my first ever ff completely written in English. It's not betaed, thus all the mistakes and the bad grammar is mine. 
> 
> Regarding the fic:  
> Set in a viking-ish era, Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and the usual gang of misfits live in the same viking village on a particularly infamous island.  
> Mostly village life, reflections, and hopes flow as a general overview of this.  
> It's an auto-conclusive chapter, but maybe I could turn it into a full story if I feel inspired.  
> Thank you for reading it!
> 
> Update:  
> This is finally a long-fic! I'll try to keep updating as often as I can, and I hope to begin writing the next few chapters soon, so I won't keep you hanging to much. Please, note the tags have changed.

They were both strong.  
The strongest of them all.  
Oikawa knew this when he saw the white and green striped sails becoming smaller as the water separated them more and more.  
It was two years ago.

Every time he thought about that day, that early morning, couldn't help but think about those furrowed brows, the open grin, wild and excited on Iwaizumi's lips.  
On his ship, Iwaizumi was a wildish thing.  
There was fondness in Oikawa heart when he thought about this, how the word "wildish" was perfect for Iwaizumi.  
People in the village always bantered about how much of a calm and collected man Hajime was, but Oikawa knew better, and always snickered when the women started lecturing him about how he should've tried to be similar to Iwaizumi.  
They didn't know the wildish grin, the boisterous laugh, the rough hands on their skin, the persistent taste of salt on his skin.  
Oikawa knew first-handedly how much of that was wrong.  
Iwaizumi has always been like the sea he loved so much. Untamed and wild, like the waves in a storm, powerful and dangerous. But also calm and contemplative, like the starry night spent drawing routes and looking for lights at the horizon, the sea a black oily surface around them, full of silence and secrets.

He had learned all of this growing up on the deck of Iwaizumi's ship beside him. They made a powerful duo back then. Everyone knew their names, everyone knew the legends - some full of beauty and wonder, some full of horror - about the Seijoh and its captains. Like a two-headed being, they lead their crew into many adventures, and now it was the same, just with a village, a clan, in their own peculiar way. Iwaizumi's on the Seijoh whenever there where raids to be made or confines to be protected, and Oikawa on the island, protecting the people of the village, starting alliances, stating their power among the other closer clans - even though at night, sometimes, he felt a pang of longing for the quiet rolling of the ship below them. There were stories for each member of the crew, but the favourites of the children in the long winter nights were always those about Oikawa Tooru, and Iwaizumi Hajime, the lovers, the captains.

They came to that island in a very unfortunate moment, leading families, children, commoners, through perilious waters and a particularly nasty storm. They were escaping their homeland with just the bare necessities, but with the sheer strenght of their stubborness and the unwavering faith in each other, they were able to start life again. A prosperous life, the villagers were now able to say, after five years of Oikawa leading them on land, and Iwaizumi on water.  
Whenever the occasion called for it, the villagers demonstrated their fondness for his chief, the protector of the clan, Oikawa Tooru, so charming and full of wit, so strong and resolute, enough for founding their little village on that infamous island and for keeping them prosperous and wealthy.  
The village was also fond of their shipmaster Iwaizumi, the untameable captain of the Seijoh, the fearless pirate that secured their right against all the other clans in the near islands.  
The sense of proudness the crew gave them was enough to make up for all the absence they had to fill, whenever they set sails.  
Oikawa was well aware of this whenever he felt the eyes of Tobio on his back while singing songs with his good voice about their feats, at night. His eyes always sparkled whenever the names of his adoptive parents, Daichi and Suga, were told, hand clasped strongly around his crow pin.  
The same could be told for Shouyou for Iwaizumi name. He went venting around for days when his father's name was told, from the moment Tooru started telling his story, Shouyou could be seen prancing around proudly to be Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru's chosen son. The others weren't less well received though: Kuroo was always the favourite of all the girls with his provocative grin, even though Kenma crushed silently every hope they could have about him just with his presence, and Bokuto's stories made everyone eyes fill with tears of laugh.  
Seijoh's crew was their beacon of joy and proudness in those long winter nights spent in the great hall around the fire pit. Their stories, their lives - albeit distant in space from them - made everyone's heart full with hope for their victorious return, and gave them a moment of rest from the hollow their absence created.

But whenever Oikawa went on the grassy cliff that looked west, couldn't help but think about a very different Iwaizumi, the one he discovered peering in the creases of his skin, the secret one he alone knew.  
That Iwaizumi was his, and his only.  
The knowledge of how greener his eyes became whenever there was a storm preparing, was his.  
The knowledge of how light and delicate his calloused hands could be when handling fragile things, was his.  
The knowledge of how wild, infectious and sincere his smile could be after a kiss was his, and his only.

He thought of this, and other things more, whenever his eyes searched for the Seijoh at sunset.  
He thought about distances, about time, of how much two years seemed two centuries when they were separated.  
They where strong alone, but stronger together, as once Hajime told him.  
He longed for Hajime in a way that make him felt a muted pain gnawing at a new part of him everyday.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's not the normal village day Oikawa expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, welcome back!  
> This fic has finally become a long-fic, as I warned when I posted the first chapter (now Prologue).  
> Had to change rating and some of the tags because of some plot developments that I want to follow.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

The village always came to life early.  
Before the sun rose, silent figures could be seen through the thick mist surrounding the island, walking quietly toward the beach, to start collecting the night fishing. Strong arms started to lift the nets from strategic points near the shore, grunts and shouts could be heard from time to time, inciting or reprimanding with the same strength that marked their movements, synced and evenly timed.  
While the sun followed its arch, slowly, like a lazy bear awakening from his sleep, the village kept waking up. Smoke rose from the huts, people started crowding the little streets, the forge came to life with a crackling and familiar sound, the flicker of the reddish light enlightening the unruly hair of the smith and his goatee.  
Although not everyone woke up this pleasantly.  


Oikawa Tooru, more often than he would like to admit, was awakened by the excited stare of his son. Shouyou slept with him while Iwaizumi was away – even though they had tried to stop this habit of his to sneak into their bed at night, Tooru couldn’t bring himself to stop the kid while Hajime was away -, but he always got up too early, sometimes even before the sun has rose. Oikawa hated early mornings.  
He tried every morning to ignore Shouyou insistent stare, but, even with his eyes closed shut, could feel the slight bounce Shouyou made at his side.  


Huffing, he would usually try to block the bouncing with his arm, throwing it above the very active boy in an attempt to pin the squirming kid to the mattress, but soon that led to tickling and Shouyou giggly laughs, his unruly orange hair fluttering around like fluffy feathers while the beads of his little braids clinked together with every fit of laughter.  
It wasn't all that bad, for an early morning.  
After breakfast and a thorough inspection of Shouyou cleaning routine - the kid had tried a few times to trick him by showing him only the washed half of his face - his son leapt out of their house as a spring, bolting free until lunch.  


Shouyou was becoming one of the fastest kids in the village, although he wasn't growing up that much, Tooru thought about while watching his son running down the streets while greeting every passerby with a smile. Nevertheless, Oikawa was confident in the fact that it was only a matter of time.  
He often wondered how much Shouyou would grow up to be like him or Hajime. They weren't his biological parents for obvious reasons, but Shouyou had become theirs since he was very little. Maybe something of their traits was sticking on him, even though he could affirm that whatever was sticking on him wasn't his wit. Sadly.  


Anyway, Oikawa couldn’t linger too much on that far-off future, the village needed him, like every other day.  
With being the clan chief came a lot of responsibilities, ceremonies, and other things, but what he liked the least was his damned cape. It was a soft cape of wool, a very heavy, very thick wool, passed from generation to generation, threaded with a new symbol inside with every new chieftain that wore it.  
It fastened just above his collar bones with the traditional leafed pins – the Aoba Johsai symbols -, leaving it draped upon is shoulders in a fashionable and flowy way.  
Albeit it really suited him, giving his broad shoulders an even more daunting impression, he hated it: every time he moved, the damn thing kept getting stuck into something; if there was rain it dragged him backwards becoming heavier with every drop. The only thing it was good enough for was to wrap Shouyou in whenever the kid fell asleep in the middle of the night, outside their home. That was really a sight that made his chest swell with a deep love and fondness for his child.  


In those days, he yearned for the Seijoh and the feeling of his thin braids swayed in the salty wind of the cold sea surrounding their island, the little beads attached to their end bumping lightly against is neck and back every now and then. Sadly, that was precluded from him for some time yet.  
Iwaizumi and he had to split because of their different duties toward the clan, and Tooru accepted this. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t ache a bit at the thought of how his mate was usually the one to fasten correctly the damn cape around his shoulders.  
All that thoughts were starting to make him feel depressed, so with a shrug of his head he decided to let them go at the bottom of his mind for a while. Again, the clan needed his chief.

Typically, his morning would be full of the ordinary clan managing routine: he would listen to the complaints between neighbors, settle quarrels that arose from time to time, help with the handling of the resources and the likes of it.  
Sometimes he would survey the spontaneous lessons to the children of the village, but today wasn't a normal day.  


He hadn't been in the Great Hall for more than a few instants, before he was tackled to the floor by a screaming Tobio, soon followed by Shouyou and a bunch of the other kids.  
Tobio's tiny hands were grasping his light green tunic with strength, while his panicked shouts where drowned by the words of the other children gathering around them.  
Keeping the kid in his lap, Oikawa sat up releasing his tunic from Tobio's hands, while trying to calm the boy with gentle pats on his inky hairs.  
«The hell is happening, kids?!» asked the chief after a moment with a rather annoyed and surprised tone, fully intending to reprimand them all for their manners, before being interrupted by Shouyou high pitched answer «There're two dead men in a boat on the beach!».  
With an alarmed glint in his eyes, Oikawa rose from the floor, shoving Tobio at his side without any warning. «Don’t get out of here till I tell you, am I clear? » firmly said to the kids, looking just for a moment longer at Shouyou to be sure he had listened, before running toward the beach.

**************

 

The kids hadn't been lying, there were indeed two unconscious men in a boat, crumpled one against another, but they were far from dead.  
The dark haired one was sprawled on top of the tallest one, almost in a protective way, and a bow was not too far from his hand, but his back was bent at a strange angle, as if he was shielding something caged between their unconscious bodies with it.  


A small crowd had gathered around, mostly made of the few fishermen and women that were previously repairing the nets.  
Oikawa looked closely at the two, going even enough far to prod one’s harm with a finger: the only response he got was a pained snort and a frown, but nothing more. Only then he noticed the beads of sweat on their foreheads, leaving clearer trails passing on their smudged temples. Ignoring every caution he could have had before, he put the palm of his hand on the forehead of the upper one and got his answer.  


«Yahaba! » Oikawa called without hesitation, and soon his advisor appeared. He didn’t know how he could, but wherever he went, he just had to call to made the young man appear by his side, his usually well-kept hair a bit windswept.  
«Quick! Go to the druid! These two are running a fever and I want answers before they are really dead! » shouted, trying to lift one of the men from the boat. A pair of hand came to his help, lifting with ease the dead weight. «I figured I could be of help. » said evenly Asahi, adjusting the dark-haired man on his shoulder, before following Yahaba as quicker as he could.  


He was left with the blond man. He was taller than the first, possibly even taller than Oikawa himself. The man was grimacing, maybe from the absence of hot-fevered weight on him, but he remained unconscious, tucking more forcefully his cape around himself, thus highlighting the strange shape on his chest, covered by the dark cloak.  
Oikawa would have liked to look immediately at the thing, but couldn’t risk anything with the villagers around, so, before anyone could start making questions, he bent down to pick up the apparently lifeless man and propped him on his shoulders, almost betrayed by his bad knee that bucked a little under the extra weight.  


Two pairs of hands came to his help, again, picking up with ease the man from his shoulder.  
«You are becoming old, Oikawa. » snickered Hanamaki, his typical grin plastered on his lips, throwing the right arm of the blond around his shoulder. «You already have white hairs, soon you’ll start losing teeth. » added Matsukawa with a straight face in the same teasing tone, throwing the left arm of the man around his shoulder.  
«Go fuck yourself, you two, my hairs are perfect. » retaliated Oikawa without missing a bit, with just that hint of playful irritation the two warriors always triggered in him, but conveying somehow the gratitude for the help.  
«Take him to Kenma, I’ll join you soon. » added after a moment heading back toward the boat, not looking to control that his order was followed.

Dispersing the little crowd that had gathered around with the normal confidence he used in this occasions, Oikawa began to inspect the boat with more tranquility.  
It was a boat especially designed for a small crew, maybe six people at its maximum. It was certainly not built for a trip longer than one or two days, but the dirtiness of the men suggested that they arrived from a longer trip. Perhaps they had hopped from island to island, maybe spending the night on the land, because the boat didn’t offer any form of repair from the cold night air, at a first look.  
There was a small leather sac under one of the three rows but it didn’t give much insight about its owners: just some bottles full of strange herbal concoctions, strips of dried fish, an empty satchel of water.  


What really got his attention, though, was the bow and the quiver discarded not far from where the men were laying. He inspected them with attention: it was a bit… odd.  
The bow was completely black, the wood a bit oily at the touch, newly stringed, and with a black leather string for the grip. It was long, probably longer than the usual bow, but what left him curious was the almost invisible engraving on the quiver.  
It was a chalky black against a leathery shinier black, and Tooru had found it only because he had accidentally touched it with his fingertips. Tilting the surface to reflect light, it clearly appeared as an owl, and Oikawa only knew one person who used it has his own mark.  


Quickly, he took the bag, the bow and the quiver and started the ascent toward the druid house, with his guesses for the mysterious incident as company.  


Kenma’s house was at the far west border of the village, almost up the hill, the nearest building to the forest. The only distinguishable feature from all the others was a single mistletoe branch that ran along the frame of the door.  


Tooru entered without knocking, welcomed by the thick waft of herbs and the reddish gleaming light of the fireplace where something was boiling in a heavy pewter pot. From the ceiling, hanged with little hooks, dried branches of herbs, flowers and roots swayed lazily above their heads, making the room seem smaller than what really was. Pots, glasses, and vases were neatly placed on woody shelves, masking the real outline of the chamber, preventing some of the daylight to fill the house.  


Kenma and Kuroo’s house was one of the few buildings with internal walls that divided spaces, making it one of the richest of the clan, only second to the chieftain’s one.  
Inside, the two mysterious men had been laid down on hastily emptied tables - their faces now cleaned from the grime -, Matsukawa and Hanamaki where pressed together against a wall looking curiously at Yaku, the druid apprentice, fretting over them with wet cloths and branches of herbs.  
Meanwhile, Asahi was handing some herbs at Kenma, who threw them in the pot after a quick examination with his yellowish eyes, and imperceptible nod of his weirdly dyed hairs.  


Oikawa closed the door behind himself, propping the bow and the leather sac against a wall, keeping instead the quiver. Hearing the door closing, Kenma turned toward him. As always, there was no readable expression on his face.  
The chieftain tossed without a word the quiver toward the druid who snatched it mid-air with ease, before looking at the object closely.  
« I found this in the boat. What do you think of it? » asked Oikawa with an unfaltering gaze at Kenma, who just rose a brow before tossing it back toward him.  
« It seems like Bokuto’s. » was the laced-up answer of the druid, again no emotion showing on his face «But that’s probably because these two are from his old clan. » he added without batting an eye, walking to the dark-haired one.

A strange look passed between Hanamaki and Matsukawa at Kenma’s words, but they didn’t argue with him. Their druid was quite respected among the village. Not only because of the knowledge of magic he had, but mostly for his acute intelligence.  
Kuroo often said Kenma was the most insightful person he knew, but when meeting Kenma for the first time, most people shrugged it off as a form of blind admiration for his lover, a sort of proud show-off for what they thought was a trophy. Fools were they! No one ever passed Kenma piercing stare without being profoundly inspected. He noticed everything, and acted upon his knowledge.  
Thus, if Kenma said those people where from Bokuto’s old clan, even though Bokuto had told everyone his clan had been murdered, they knew their druid was right. And that was what their chieftain had probably thought, judging by his thoughtful but unsurprised expression.  


«Aye. I thought so when I saw the mark, Kenma, but I’m sure you’ll be able to enlighten me more about these weird guests we have. » Oikawa nodded, going to his side, and examining the fevering duo with him.  
«Those marks are probably for hunters » the druid declared with a calm tone, pointing to the two black thin lines that marked the cheeks of the dark-haired man, starting from the eyes and ending just under his jaw, crossing the light freckles that gave a younger appearance to his visage.  
«I believe those are a blessing given to his eyes by the gods, but I will ask him directly for confirmation when his fever will let him wake up. » he added, almost as an after-thought.  
«While this tall one here, I can say he’s the druid of his clan. » he whispered, tapping lightly on a little stitched moon inside the hood of his mantle.  


« Are you really sure Kenma? » Oikawa demanded, although there wasn’t doubt in his voice. He knew Kenma was right, but to send their druid that far from their home… that would have led to two different suppositions: their clan had sent away his druid as a last resource to save part of himself or ask for help, or they were going to be the bearer of a rather important message. And Oikawa feared the most this last possibility.  


« Yes, I am. » the druid gravely stated revealing something that had been hidden before by the cape of the blond druid: a broken drakkar head painted in white and green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.  
> That's a pretty obscure start with a lot of unanswered questions, but I can promise you things will be explained in the next chapters.  
> For now just let me clarify a few things:
> 
> \- Drakkar is the common viking warship, used by Scandinavian people till the XV century. A drakkar head was the traditional dragon head placed at one or both of the ends of the ship, that was used to intimidate enemies and could be hided when approaching friendly ports.  
> \- Contrary to most beliefs, viking houses weren't all that small. They remembered viking ships with their oval shape, and were able to host even 20/30 people inside. Mostly they were one-room houses, with spaces divided by curtains or not, but I imagined some of the richer ones could have had inner walls. Obviously the chieftain and the druid - the most important figures in my headcanon for the clan society - had the largest houses, but that doesn't mean that others can't have houses as big as theirs. Vikings builded their own houses by themselves, so it's just a matter of time, effort and ability to build one in the shape and dimension they like.
> 
> ... And that's all, until the next chapter, which I hope to be able to finish soon enough.  
> All the mistakes are mine, and if you want to help me correcting my English, please feel free to point them out!  
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this chapter but I struggled with it for a while.  
> It didn't left me 100% satisfied, and I'm not yet with it. Maybe I'll edit it someday?
> 
> By the way... we have art!  
> Geo, an artist I'm proud to call my friend actually made a little something for my humble fic (blessed!) and [ here ](https://wannabegeo.tumblr.com/post/157905313670/this-is-the-first-sketch-for-on-a-tempest-tossed) you can find a beautiful sketch of a cover that she promised me will arrive coloured someday for On a Tempest Tossed Island!  
> I'm actually dying a little bit watching how much Oikawa and Iwaizumi are beautiful here, but you should totally check her other works on her [ tumblr ](https://wannabegeo.tumblr.com/) or Instagram!

Chapter 2

  
_« Are you really sure Kenma? »_  
_« Yes, I am. » the druid gravely stated revealing something that had been hidden before by the cape of the blond druid: a broken drakkar head painted in white and green._

 

 

 

Something shattered.

  
In the deepest part of his soul Tooru felt it. The shattered, broken sound that ended in a loud clear crash. He could almost see it: the glassy shards glinting in the morning light, suspended just for an instant more, and then hitting the ground with a devastating sound.

  
From the worried looks he felt on himself, Oikawa was probably trembling. His hands were, for sure, because the woody drakkar head was rattling after Kenma handed it to him. But what could have seemed just like a slight tremor for an external eye, inside had the groundbreaking force of an earthquake. It sure felt like it, for him.  
He couldn’t do nothing but stare, wordlessly, at the broken green and white log, trying to wrap his head around the meaning of that shitty piece of wood.

  
It was telling a story to him, maybe two or three even, and none was full of hope. The drakkar head had been placed on its pole when the Seijoh has left their ports two years ago. Their men were going to raid the furthest coasts, explore new territories, bring back precious bounties. The end of this story had to be a joyous one. He had already imagined the happiness Hajime’s return would have caused to Shouyou and him. He had already dreamt the moment Hajime would have jumped off the Seijoh, splashing chill water in his run on the sandy beach of their island, Shouyou almost flying to him, just to be encased in their embrace. He had already seen in his mind the night of Hajime’s return, Tooru’s blood singing of joy in his vein at the sensation of his lover’s skin under his hands, his scorching lips on his own.

  
Instead, those dreams had crashed against the reality of that drakkar head and the possibility that Hajime’s lips weren’t soft, warm and pliant for him, but icy cold under tons of yards of salty water, ready to be eaten by fishes. Even though the likelihood of this, Tooru couldn’t bring himself to think this was how his Hajime had ended.  
They could have crashed on an island after a tempest, the Seijoh to ruined to be of any use. Or they could have been captured by some other rival clan, for some reason he couldn’t give a shit about.  
Oikawa didn’t care. He would give his life for Hajime without blinking twice.

  
Hajime couldn’t be dead. He knew this. He _felt_ this. He would have known, somehow. There had to be an explanation, for the broken wood head. There had to be.  
Even now that panic was infuriating inside him, he felt a tiny voice in his head screaming that Hajime was alive for him, but it was too thin to submerge the sudden wave of terror at the prospect of a life without his lover.  
There was no sound in the room other than his heavy breathing, becoming labored with every passing moment. He felt icy shivers showering over him, and then vamps of warmth erasing his senses. Tooru felt so weak, kept in place just by the knowledge that people were looking at him, observing his reaction.

  
“Hajime… Hajime…” it was echoing in his mind, a desperate lilt to his inner voice and Hajime wasn’t there to sooth it, to make him calm, like always.  
“He was… Hajime was… How… Hajime...Where was he…?” his voice was a breathy whisper, a bit strangled in some points, and Tooru had to force himself to recognize it as his own.  
Hands were on his before he could draw them away, drawing little circles on his skin, trying to stop just a bit the shaking. But they were not the right hands – too little, too elegant, where was the little scar on the tanned thumb?, where was the sensation of rough calloused finger pads on the back of his hands?  
Yellow eyes where piercing his, trying to convey a message Oikawa wasn’t ready to get, his own eyes roaming the room without purpose, searching for an anchor of sorts.

  
« Tooru… »  
It wasn’t the right voice… It lacked Hajime underlying roughness…  
The hold on his hand became firmer, almost bruising, keeping them from shaking even more around the drakkar head, the knuckles white in his deadly hold.

  
«Tooru. » Kenma’s voice grabbed his attention, not leaving room for anything else. «Tooru, you need to calm down. We don’t know what happened. You need to get ahold of yourself, chieftain. » he added at the end, steading him with his calm even tone, apparently unaffected, his stare unwavering even now.

  
Chieftain. He was the clan chieftain, he had to remember himself. Oikawa Tooru couldn’t let anything shake him like this. Not in front of his men, not in front of anyone. He had to stay focused for the clan. The idea that Hajime, that Seijoh’s crew wasn’t on this world anymore… he couldn’t show anyone the fear that was creeping inside of him, chilling him to the bone, at the mere thought of it.

  
« Aye, Kenma. » he let out in an unsteady murmur, before raising slowly his head and looking now in the deep eyes of the druid. «Aye. » he repeated once more, this time a tad stronger, and Kenma let his hands go, swiftly hiding his own in his long tunic sleeves. Oikawa looked at him, acknowledging just now that Kenma was in his same situation: Kuroo was on the Seijoh too. Like Iwaizumi, like Bokuto, Daichi, Suga, Nishinoya and Tanaka.

  
His moment of panic had clouded his mind just that bit much to make him oblivious of his surroundings, of the concerned stares of Matsukawa and Hanamaki, the slow breathing of the two feverish men on the tables, the firm gaze of Asahi next to the fireplace, of Yaku frozen movements with the mortar full of herbs on a counter.

  
Oikawa Tooru prided himself with his ability to know his surroundings and have the best on his emotions. He was known to be able to laugh even under a deadly threat before his enemies without the slightest hint of terror showing in his eyes. Those were some of the qualities that he knew made him fit for the role of chieftain more than Hajime. Hot headed, genuine, direct Hajime, whose soul was see-through for those who knew him enough to take a more meaningful look.  
Those qualities were Oikawa’s weapons to use as it pleased him, for his allies or against his enemies. He couldn’t let himself to be so caught in his own fears to suddenly forgot his position, his status. Hajime would never forgive him for it. That was certain. Also, drowning in the possibility of Hajime’s death wouldn’t be useful for what he needed to do from that moment.  
Fixing an unreadable look on Kenma he put down on the table the broken drakkar head, just then speaking « When will they wake? »

«Maybe in a day or two. I’ll send Yaku to you when they’ll be in condition to speak and answer questions. » the “I want answers too” in Kenma’s eyes went unsaid but strangely it helped steading Oikawa even more.

  
«Perfect. » he nodded curtly, before fixing a look on Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who until that moment hadn’t said a word yet. « Start with the preparations of the Black Crow. Asahi, I’ll need you to check everything on it and I’ll need you to come with us, this time, I think. » Oikawa added, not losing the quick nod of agreement between Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and the unusual fierce look in Asahi’s eyes before going out Kenma’s house.  
«We’ll alert Kindaichi and Watari» Matsukawa said before making his exit, followed shortly after by Hanamaki «And Kunimi too. »

  
That left he, Kenma and Yaku alone, but with a quick glance to his apprentice, Kenma made clear to leave him and Oikawa alone for now, and Yaku without batting an eye suddenly busied himself with his herbs and his mortar murmuring some sort of spell while grinding the pestle.

  
When it was sure to talk again Oikawa opened his lips to tell something but Kenma beat him to it.

  
«I’ll let you know that Kuroo sent me the last crow two weeks ago, and his message stated they would be back soon enough. » Kenma’s voice was quiet as always, but it had an odd edge at the end that kept Tooru's mouth shut.  
«He didn’t tell where the Seijoh was, but I’ve been thinking of this since Asahi took the first one of the Fukurodani's in my house a few hours ago. » the scared glimpse of fear that traversed for an instant Kenma's eyes gave chills to Oikawa. He had dared to use the name of Bokuto’s once-lost clan without a second thought. That implied he was sure that somewhere there was a lie and indeed someone of the Fukurodani’s clan had survived and reorganized, unbeknownst to Bokuto probably, because the man couldn’t keep a secret if it was for his life.

  
«Their island was in the two weeks radius of voyage from ours. » completed in a thoughtful whisper the druid, but Oikawa's mind was already racing with possibilities again.

  
«But why sending us their druid if it’s them? Is it a threat? That would explain the drakkar head, but why sending him with a fever, or with just that few protections?  
It doesn’t make any sense from this view, Kenma. » Tooru said, stopping in the middle of the room he had been pacing just seconds before, looking at the oddly calm man in front of him. Kenma was always that calm, but if it was possible, it went even stiller for an instant. «How can you be this calm? » murmured at last to Kenma, all the desperation from before seeping throw his words as a renewed venom.

  
«I’m not. » the other answered curtly «But it’s useless pondering on it right now. It just confuses us even more. » Kenma finally stated, more to himself than to Oikawa. His piercing yellow eyes were looking for something in his own for a moment more, before he said «Go home Tooru. Go home to Shouyou. Prepare yourself for the coming days, cause I’ve the feeling we are about to open a nest of vipers. I’ll tell you when they’ll be up to talk » he added jerking lightly his head toward the two feverish men « It’s useless to hurt yourself this way. Without a hint of a trace, the path of truth it’s closed to us. » and with that Kenma turned his back to him, dismissing him for the moment.

  
There was a sort of kindred compassion in his voice, but to Oikawa just sounded like a presage of darkness.

 

**************

 

When he came in front of Ennoshita’s door the sun had already set and the warmth of the fireplace was seeping throw the thick layers of wool, wood and mud that protected the walls of the house.

  
Tooru knocked once before entering, and the sight of his sleeping son wrapped in a thick coat with little Tobio welcomed him.  
His heart felt even heavier in his chest. He had wandered around the village the whole day, thinking about what he should do, how should he handle the matter at hand, but he couldn’t kid himself with empty reassurances.

  
That night he had to come home to his kid, who would ask like every other night when was Father coming home, and Tooru would have to lie to him, because he didn’t know if his father would ever come home again.

  
He suddenly found himself unable to make a step more from the threshold, but a warm hand was on his back and Ennoshita’s calming face came into his field of view.

  
The man gave him a little push inside and closed the door behind him. It was incredible how much he resembled Sawamura, but it was only natural since they were brothers, though only for a half. Nonetheless, they both had that reliable undertone in their presence, something that grounded comfortingly the people around them.

  
Ennoshita, with that comforting smile of his, just went up to pick Shouyou up, extricating the little boy from the furs without uncovering unnecessarily his dark haired nephew. Shouyou just blinked twice before detecting his father and directing his hands to him. Tooru promptly complied, taking his son in his arms and tucking him inside the hated thick woolen fur.

« He has been sleeping for a while, but had tried to wait for you to come home. » the man said to ease some of the weird atmosphere that had leaked inside with Tooru’s arrival, but it was actually worse now.

  
A lump formed in Oikawa’s throat at those words, but was quickly shoved aside with the emotions those words raised in him, and with a curt nod of thanks left Ennoshita.

The walk home felt odd. The light weight of Shouyou in his arms was so calming! It gave him a deep warm feeling, that spread all along his body, somehow warming him, but there was a small area that was furiously cold, threatening to freeze him with every step he took towards their home.

  
His boy had waited for him, because he was sure his father would come to pick him up. There was no other way around it, Tooru couldn't find one.

  
Hajime and him had taken Shouyou when he was barely a year old. The boy had grown up believing his fathers were invincible: they fought every monster, they disarmed every opponent, they won every battle, each time ready to come home to him.

  
Tooru knew this. It was a point of pride for them. The faith his son had in his parents was invaluable. It was never shaken, never broken. They had always come to him.  
And tucking his son securely against his chest in their bed, that night, Tooru trembled, feeling lost and ashamed and terrified at the idea he may have to broke that faith someday. Someday soon that was ready to swallow their hard-conquered little world into a pit of despair of which he wouldn't be able to see the end.

  
But just for that night, he lulled himself to sleep in the false promise of another day, just a few hours more of that heavenly peace they had, that Hajime would come home soon to them, healthy, unarmed, victorious. If there were tears in his eyes, Tooru made sure none of them tainted Shouyou bright hair with the salty desperation they held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that's all for now.  
> Hope you enjoyed it~!  
> It would really be appreciated a comment or something, cause I'm always looking forward to better my writing and myself.  
> Also, all mistakes are mine, cause it's not betaed... again.
> 
> Ps: if you'd like to chat about this fic and other haikyuu related things I've a tumblr now!  
> Let's keep in touch! You can find me here at [ haikyuu-rolls ](https://haikyuu-rolls.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> If you are reading this note, thank you. Thank you very much, because this means you were able to survive that thing above.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> I'd really appreciate if you'd leave comments, so I'll know how to get better at writing.  
> Lots of love for you! ~


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